Once upon a time there was a story. The worlds a mess. Everything's a mess. We're all fucked. The internet shows us every last bit of it. It shows us all the time for everything and everyone. There's too many all the time all at once. It's too much to heal. It's too much to fix. Everyone. Everywhere. Fucked. Flood the internet with bullshit flowers or bullshit poems or bullshit art or bullshit. All to cover up the mess.
Once upon a time there was a story. The news is full of stories. The stories are read. The news is over. Yesterday's stories are today's chips. The story is told. The story is forgotten. The end.
We probably have a home to move in to! A really cool one with an amazing garden. It's not dream home location, it might cost a small fortune to heat and it needs a fireplace. I know I'm fortunate. I know I should be ecstatic but I'm scared to be happy. You know, just in case it all goes bolloxed again.
So let the packing commence.
Meltdowns - coming from all fucking angles
Losing the plot - head exploding gut wrenching
Breastfeeding - aaaaarrrggghhhh!!
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